Collecting Shadows Page 21

  The shooting had stopped, but if the man made his way into the bedroom they were sitting ducks.

  A long minute or more passed.

  In the distance, the shrill of a siren came into earshot, followed closely by another one.

  “Please, please get here,” Bailey whispered, trembling as she drew her legs up and hugged her knees.

  Liam, too, found himself shaking. “We’re going to make it,” he forced himself to say.

  Heavy footsteps came from the hallway. His blood chilled. This was it. This was how he would die. The man was coming for them.

  Another full minute passed, and they heard nothing. The house was quiet.

  On the lawn below, they saw a man trot by to the driveway. He kept his face shielded from them. He jumped into a white car, pulled out, and accelerated quickly. A police car, siren blaring and lights flashing, sped up the road from the opposite direction, sliding to a halt in front of the Monroe house just as the white car disappeared around a corner. A second squad car arrived, followed by an ambulance.

  ****

  Carefully, Liam and Bailey climbed back inside the house. They were met by police as they reached the first floor.

  Preston was quickly attended to by paramedics. She was alive, but had lost a considerable amount of blood. The paramedics loaded her into the ambulance which would take her to Flagler Hospital. They assured the young pair that Preston’s parents would be notified en route to the hospital.

  59

  Preston had revived long enough to confirm the statement that Liam and Bailey gave to police of the unknown shooter. There was overwhelming evidence to support their story. Still, they were taken to the police station. After Liam spent 10 minutes with a sketch artist giving a description of the shooter, he and Bailey were placed in a conference room with Detective Randy Sanders, who had interviewed them at the scene.

  Sanders, a stocky man with a military crewcut, sat down across from them studying the sketch artist composite. His shirt sleeves had been carelessly rolled to his forearm. “Bailey, Liam, we need to try and figure out why you and Preston Legitti were targeted by this man. You say you were completing a homework assignment given to you by Ron Mast. The same Ron Mast found murdered in his classroom last Thursday. Is that correct?” They nodded in unison. Sanders directed his next words at Liam. “I know you were the one who found Ron Mast’s body and you’re probably still shaken up, but honestly, I think your story of what happened today is lacking details,” he spoke in a husky voice and never broke eye contact, “and if I don’t know everything that’s going on, it’s going to be hard for me to catch up with this bad guy.”

  Liam realized they’d better come clean for their own protection. “We were hunting for clues which may lead to a treasure.”

  To his side, Bailey nodded. “That’s the truth.”

  Sanders raised his eyebrows.

  They explained everything: the photograph of Henry Flagler, the notes Mr. Mast had assembled, the clues they had found so far, Liam following the man to his apartment on Saragossa Street Sunday night and then reporting the man to the police.

  “I visited Mr. Ainsley on Monday. He’s a consultant working with a U.K. publishing firm. I spoke with his boss.”

  “He’s still sketchy,” Liam remarked.

  “Nevertheless, his story holds up.” Sanders paused. “You say you found more numbers on the door upstairs in the Monroe house?”

  “Yes,” Bailey said. She pulled out her smartphone and showed him the images of the numbers. “I didn’t get a chance to file them off.”

  “If you haven’t been able to decipher them, how do you know this is nothing more than serial numbers put there by the manufacturer?”

  Bailey replied, “I guess we don’t, but we found similar numbers on three other pieces.”

  “And you say there’re two more items from Kirkside with these coded numbers?”

  “Yes, a staircase banister and a timepiece,” Liam said.

  “Do you know where they are?”

  Liam hung his head, “We believe the staircase banister was in the home of Granville Turnfield.”

  “The elderly man who died in the house fire about a week and a half ago on Mulvey Street?”

  Liam nodded. “We don’t think his death was an accident. We believe the Scottish man found the numbered clue then killed him, covering it with the fire.”

  “I just told you, the Scottish man’s not involved.” Sanders picked up the sketch. “See this picture based on your description? Well, the man I interviewed, Mr. Ainsley, didn’t have a beard, and he wore browline glasses, not the thick glasses you described.”

  “I heard his voice. He’s got the accent,” Liam challenged.

  Sanders leaned back, crossing his arms. “We’ve got a real conspiracy theory going on here, don’t we?”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic,” Liam mumbled.

  Sanders eyed Liam but didn’t respond. “And the sixth piece?”

  “We don’t know where the timepiece is,” Bailey admitted.

  “So, let me see. In summary,” Sanders said leaning forward, “you’re on a treasure hunt, and you think a Scottish man somehow got a list of the same clues you obtained from your deceased teacher. Putting everything together, you think he tried to kill you to take you out of the hunt. Preston Legitti was a victim of circumstance: wrong place, wrong time. She knows nothing about your true motive for coming to the Monroe house. Is that about it?”

  They both nodded.

  “One more thing,” Bailey said, “can you tell us what happened to Mrs. Manacia? She’s an agent who works at—”

  “Ashton Realty,” Sanders finished. His face revealed his surprise.

  “Is she okay?” Liam asked.

  “She was shot 35 minutes before you had your encounter. Are you proposing that her shooter was the same man who came after you?”

  “Yes,” Bailey said, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Oh my God,” Liam said, “I just remembered something. My cell phone rang as Preston and I crouched at the foot of the door. That’s how he knew I was inside, and where to target.”

  “Let me see your phone,” Sanders said.

  Liam dug it out.

  Sanders pressed some buttons and read the display. “The number that called you was the payphone by the public parking garage. I know it by heart.”

  “Liam,” Bailey began, “he got your number after he shot Mrs. Manacia. Remember, One used your cell phone to call his mother’s office? The Scottish man must have looked at the caller ID.”

  Sanders nodded. “It’s possible the shooter paid someone to call you at a time when he figured he’d be at the house.” Sanders’ expression firmed. “Listen to me, I don’t know what to believe, but obviously someone has it in for you. No more treasure hunting until we catch this guy, understood?” He accentuated treasure like he was talking to children.

  Liam took exception with his tone, but nodded begrudgingly. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Bailey echoed him.

  “Your mother and aunt are waiting outside to take you home.” He handed them each his card. “You see any hint of this guy, get away, then call me.”

  ****

  Detective Sanders had Liam and Aunt Rita driven home by an officer, as were Bailey and her mother.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt Rita asked when they reached the shop.

  Liam nodded. “Just shaken up.”

  Drew was waiting in the shop and opened the door when they arrived. “Hey.”

  “I want to know what’s going on,” Aunt Rita said.

  It was time he told her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. Drew, you’re welcome to hear, too.”

  At the table, Liam recounted the entire story and showed them Mr. Mast’s notes, including the image of Henry Flagler seated in the unknown parlor.

  “Impressive. A Da Vinci painting and a Fabergé egg,” Drew said.

  “Liam, this is all so…unbelievable,” Aunt Rita said, rolling her
hair behind her ears.

  “And you believe this man had a hand in all these deaths? Including your teacher?” Drew asked.

  Liam nodded.

  “If you don’t know how to decipher the numbers, and if one piece was lost in the fire…”

  “Then we’re at a dead end,” Liam said dejectedly.

  “I’m more concerned that this Scottish man might come after you again. You better stick to the shop until they catch him.”

  “Rita, do you have a weapon?” Drew asked.

  “I have my father’s old .45. It’s got a full magazine of seven rounds. It’s hidden behind the shop counter.”

  “You never told me that,” Liam said.

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  Drew took charge. “For someone to get upstairs, they’d have to come through the shop. I’ll keep it with me on the cot, and we’ll put bells on the front and back doors.”

  Rita kept the shop closed the rest of the afternoon. That night, with Drew downstairs on guard, Liam went to bed early but had trouble sleeping, not for the usual reasons, but because he kept thinking about how close he’d come to dying. Pilot must have sensed his uneasiness and never left the floor by the side of Liam’s bed.

  He exchanged several text messages with Bailey. One’s mother, Mrs. Manacia, was in critical condition. She had been shot in the chest, and the bullet had missed her heart by a fraction of an inch. One was staying at the hospital. Random had been there most of the day. Mr. Manacia was returning to the States and would arrive in the morning. Preston’s wound wasn’t life threatening, and she was expected to make a full recovery.

  Liam was very much concerned for Bailey’s safety. He continued to text her through the night to make sure she responded and was okay.

  He climbed out of bed at 6:15 a.m. It was useless trying to sleep any longer. He called to Drew before going downstairs. When Drew responded, Liam and Pilot joined him in the shop. Drew was sitting on the edge of his cot.

  “Did you get any sleep?” Drew asked.

  “Not much. You?”

  “Enough. It’s been quiet.”

  “I’m still having a hard time getting used to you without the beard.”

  “Back in the day, I was always clean-shaven.”

  Liam leaned against the counter, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “You were a cop, right?”

  Drew nodded.

  “Ever had anyone shoot at you?”

  “A few times.”

  Liam shook his head from side to side, wide-eyed. “It was intense—scared the shit out of me.”

  Drew laughed. “Yeah, me too. You’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay, Drew.” Liam jumped up and sat on the counter.

  Drew stood and walked over to him. “You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I know it’s tough, but if you continue to look in the rearview mirror, you’ll miss the opportunities for happiness in front of you.”

  “You sure do have a lot of quotes.”

  “I’m homeless. It’s a possession I can never lose,” Drew grinned. “Hey, you know how to work this pistol?”

  “No.”

  Drew gave him a crash course, then handed it to Liam. “I have to go out, but I’ll be back in about 45 minutes. Keep the doors locked.”

  “I need to take Pilot out.”

  “Then we’re going together,” he took the gun back from Liam, “and we’re going out the back way, out of view of King Street.”

  When they returned to the shop, Drew handed Liam the pistol and left out the back door again. Liam locked it behind him.

  As promised, he returned about 45 minutes later, knocking on the back door. Once Liam confirmed his identity, he let him in. They went upstairs for breakfast. Pilot, who had already eaten, followed Liam everywhere he went.

  A few minutes later, Aunt Rita came out of her bedroom, tying up her robe. “Good morning,” she smiled at the two sitting at the kitchen table eating donuts and drinking coffee.

  “Good morning, Aunt Rita,” Liam said.

  “Morning,” Drew said with a nod and a smile.

  “The man in the garage apartment on Saragossa is gone,” Liam said.

  “He’s vacated his apartment,” Drew said.

  “How do you know?” Aunt Rita asked.

  “Drew checked his place this morning.”

  “That’s probably not a safe thing to do,” Aunt Rita said in a concerned tone as she poured a cup of coffee.

  “With the police involved now,” Drew replied, “the heat’s been turned up. Whether or not the police believe he’s the suspect, they probably paid him a visit yesterday after interviewing Liam and Bailey. Either they spoke to him and he fled afterward, or he was already gone. Chances are he’s left town.”

  “That’s good news,” Aunt Rita said. She addressed Liam, “I’ve got to run out this morning to the grocery store. I need to pick up some things for the turkey. I really don’t have the money, but tomorrow’s a holiday so we’re going to splurge. I’m hoping I can convince a certain gourmet cook to prepare it for us.”

  “Works for me,” Liam acknowledged.

  “Can you hold down the shop while I’m gone?”

  “Of course. I’ve got Drew and Pilot to keep me company.”

  “Do you mind if I give you a list of a few inexpensive things to pick up for the meal?” Drew asked.

  “Not at all. I’m going to charge it all, so it’s not real cash anyway,” she said with a smirk.

  Rita left and Liam opened the shop at 9:00 a.m. Drew sat nearby in a folding chair with Pilot at his feet and the gun tucked in his pants, hidden by his shirt.

  Liam no longer felt in danger. Something about a new day, and Drew confirming the man had left his apartment, gave him a huge sense of relief.

  Liam texted Bailey. She was up and moving. She and her mom were on their way to the hospital to visit One and his father. Liam asked for a status when she got there.

  Liam was pleasantly surprised when customers walking the street began flowing in. It appeared many of the St. Augustine residents had the day off and were taking advantage of the local shops.

  Drew and Pilot remained vigilant, with Drew paying special attention to the male shoppers in case Liam reacted to any of their faces.

  An elderly woman with an affable grin walked in. She stepped before the free-standing bookcase and asked Liam, “How much are the vintage board games?”

  Liam walked over. He picked up the first one he came to, a Ouija board, and flipped it over. “They’re priced on the back, ma’am, listed along with the year it was made. This one’s from 1954,” he said, showing her the sticker in the lower left corner. “Are you interested in a particular one?”

  “Actually, the one in your hand. I remember playing as a child. It was even older than this one.” Liam turned it back over, and she seemed to study the Ouija board cover with curious amusement. “Funny, this isn’t like the one I had. The planchette in my game was shaped differently.”

  “Planchette?”

  “Yes, that’s what this is called.” She pointed to the small, heart-shaped plastic piece supported on casters with the clear plastic circle. “It’s used for reading the letter or number underneath as it moves over the game board. The planchette in my game was wooden, more rounded. Then again, I’m old,” she chuckled. “Things have changed a lot since then. Still, I think I’ll buy it, since it brings back good memories of playing with my sisters when we were young. They’re gone now, so maybe I’ll put a call in to them with this thing.” Again she laughed.

  At first, Liam remained straight-faced, but soon he joined in with her giggles.

  Liam rang the woman up and she was gone.

  “Did you know that thing in a Ouija board is called a planchette?”

  “Yep,” Drew nodded.

  “What about you, Pilot?”

  The Malamute cocked his head with a quizzical expression. Liam had really come to love the dog.

  A
memory flashed in his mind. He and his aunt were talking at the dining room table in early October. He recalled the box of scrap wood that contained remnants from Kirkside. One piece in particular had caught his interest.

  “Drew, please watch the shop. I have to go upstairs,” Liam said, dashing past him.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” he called down, already at the top. He opened the door to his aunt’s bedroom and went to her closet, sliding the pocket door open. The box was on the shelf above the clothes rack. He pulled it down and placed it on the floor, kneeling beside it. Quickly, he dug out the small, flat half-circle of wood with the protective finish. On the face was the curved design in black ink, along with black letters. The previously illegible letters were now legible, even though some of the word was sheared off.

  Oui

  This piece of wood was once a Ouija board planchette.

  It could have come from Ida Alice Flagler’s Ouija board.

  60

  Liam tried to calm himself. He could feel his heart racing. He hurried back downstairs to the shop and found a much newer Ouija board on a shelf along the wall.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” Drew asked.

  “I think I’ve done it: figured out the numeric code from the Kirkside pieces.” He placed the box on the counter and removed the lid. He pulled the contents out and laid the planchette aside. He eyed the letters on the board. They were arranged in two rows: A to M, and N to Z. Liam pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and looked at the numbers from the first item listed, the column:

  16 22 25 27 25 15 11 26 28 25 15

  Drew joined him at the counter. “You think the code has something to do with a Ouija board? There weren’t Ouija boards in Flagler’s day, were there?”

  “Actually, there were. And it’s known that Ida Alice had one and used it often. It makes perfect sense she would use it as a cypher key.”

  Liam grabbed a pencil and looked at each number in the column code. He knew a straight count, matching numbers to letters one-to-one didn’t work. He’d already tried it. Besides, there are only 26 numbers in the alphabet and the code contained 27 and 28.